“Have you gone mad?” Pugnax said, grappling with him.
“You want a fight, Callistus? I’ll give you one. Anytime. Anywhere!”
“Shut up!”
Atretes broke his hold and pushed one of the guards out of his way, but Callistus was already gone. People drew back from Atretes as though he had gone mad. What man in his right mind would insult and challenge a man with the ear of Domitian, Emperor Titus’ own brother?
Atretes stood in the middle of the room and felt the force of their stares. He looked around, his gaze passing from face to face and saw what they wanted, what they hoped, had been accomplished. And he knew if he stayed, it would happen.
* * *
Rizpah jumped when the door burst open, banging loudly against the wall as Atretes stormed in. Caleb yelped in fright and started to cry. She picked him up from the floor where she had been playing with him and rose.
“What’s happened?” she said softly and received no answer.
Atretes paced like a caged animal, pausing only long enough to pick up a wine goblet and send it crashing against a wall as he muttered blackly in German.
Pugnax entered and tossed a pouch of gold coins onto the table. “Take it and get out of here while you can.”
Atretes swept the pouch onto the floor. “I’m not tucking tail and running from that little—”
“Then you’ll be back in the ludus by tomorrow night! Just in time to get a good night’s sleep before the games begin!”
Atretes spat out a harsh word and kicked the table over. Rizpah drew back sharply.
“You knew what you were doing!” Pugnax said in accusation. “Did it salve your bloody pride? Will it when they have you in chains? By the gods, you may have me in chains as well!”
“Remind Callistus you kept me from breaking his neck!”
“What about her?” Pugnax said, nodding to Rizpah, who stood on the far side of the room trying to calm a screaming Caleb.
Atretes stopped and turned, his expression dangerous. “What about her?”
“Have you forgotten how things work? Domitian and Callistus will make her part of whatever they’ve planned for you. And it won’t be pretty.”
Atretes looked at her ashen face and remembered some of the things he had seen done to women in the arena, things too foul and depraved to even contemplate happening to a stranger, let alone her. He would rather forfeit his own life than see Rizpah harmed in any way, and the realization shook him.
“Let me take her,” Pugnax said.
Atretes turned on him. “Get out!”
“Her fate will be on your head.”
As Pugnax left, Rizpah came close to him and put her hand on his arm. “My fate is in the hands of the Lord, Atretes. Not in yours, not even in my own.”
Atretes looked down at her. If only he could believe in something as strongly as she believed in her Christ! What was it about this Christ that made his followers so sure of him? Atretes shook his head. Faith in anything of this world had been beaten from him long ago. “Take the gold and go to your friends. They’ll keep you safe.”
“My place is with you. God set me at your side.”
Atretes caught hold of her arm, his fingers biting painfully into her flesh. “Don’t argue, woman! Do what I tell you!” He gave her a shove toward her small chamber just as someone rapped hard on the door. “A centurion and four soldiers just came in,” one of the bodyguards said through the closed door.
“Move,” Atretes snarled at her, but she stood her ground, no fear in her eyes.
“If it’s the Lord’s will we go to Germania, he will deliver us.”
He turned at the familiar sound of hobnail sandals and the jangle of brass-studded belts. Soldiers were in the corridor outside.
“Get back in there,” he said, shoving her toward the doorway to her small chamber. “And keep the babe quiet.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Do as I say!”
She stood firm.
There was a stubbornness in her he knew could never be broken. “You’ll be in my way.” Before he could make her do his will, the door burst open, and two legionnaires took positions just inside on either side as a third, in the full crimson and polished brass regalia of a Roman centurion, appeared.
“You!” Atretes said, his rage full-flower.
“I’m taking you under guard, Atretes,” Theophilus said in an uncompromising tone. “Give me your sword.”
Atretes drew it. “Where do you want it?”
Theophilus snapped his fingers, and two soldiers moved so that Atretes had to turn his head back and forth to watch them. Two more entered the room just behind Theophilus. “I’ll make myself clear. We’re taking you under guard, whether you like it or not.”